each other's
faces, a vigorous hand-clapping broke out. The raffle of Hartrath's
picture was over, and as Presley turned about he saw Mrs. Cedarquist
and her two daughters signalling eagerly to the manufacturer, unable to
reach him because of the intervening crowd. Then Mrs. Cedarquist raised
her voice and cried:

"I've won. I've won."

Unnoticed, and with but a brief word to Cedarquist, Magnus and Harran
went down the marble steps leading to the street door, silent, Harran's
arm tight around his father's shoulder.

At once the orchestra struck into a lively air. A renewed murmur of
conversation broke out, and Cedarquist, as he said good-bye to Presley,
looked first at the retreating figures of the ranchers, then at the
gayly dressed throng of beautiful women and debonair young men, and
indicating the whole scene with a single gesture, said, smiling sadly as
he spoke:

"Not a city, Presley, not a city, but a Midway Plaisance."

CHAPTER II

Underneath the Long Trestle where Broderson Creek cut the line of the
railroad and the Upper Road, the ground was low and covered with a
second growth of grey green willows. Along the borders of the creek were
occasional marshy spots, and now and then Hilma Tree came here to gather
water-cresses, which she made into salads.

The place was picturesque, secluded, an oasis of green shade in all the
limitless, flat monotony of the surrounding wheat lands. The creek had
eroded deep into the little gully, and no matter how hot it was on the
baking, shimmering levels of the ranches above, down here one always
found one's self enveloped in an odorous, moist coolness. From time to
time, the incessant murmur of the creek, pouring over and around the
larger stones, was interrupted by the thunder of trains roaring out
upon the trestle overhead, passing on with the furious gallop of their
hundreds of iron wheels, leaving in the air a taint of hot oil, acrid
smoke, and reek of escaping steam.

On a certain afternoon, in the spring of the year, Hilma was returning
to Quien Sabe from Hooven's by the trail that led from Los Muertos to
Annixter's ranch houses, under the trestle. She had spent the afternoon
with Minna Hooven, who, for the time being, was kept indoors because of
a wrenched ankle. As Hilma descended into the gravel flats and thickets
of willows underneath the trestle, she decided that she would gather
some cresses for her supper that night. She found a spot around the ba